Bräsig remained a week at the parsonage, and did everything that was
necessary to be done at such a time. He made the inventary, wrote a
large bundle of letters announcing the sad news of Mr. Behrens' death,
and took them to the post-office himself in spite of snow, cold and
gout, settled accounts with the Rahnstädt tradesmen, and was now seated
at the breakfast-table with Mrs. Behrens and Louisa on the Monday after
the funeral, taking his last meal before leaving them, when a carriage
stopped at the door, and Frank von Rambow getting out of it entered the
room with joyful impetuosity. But on seeing the deep mourning worn by
both the women, he stood still and exclaimed: "What has happened? Where
is Mr. Behrens?"--The widow rose from her arm-chair, and going to the
young man shook hands with him, and said with difficulty: "My pastor
is gone. He has gone home, and wished to be remembered to all, to
all ...." Here she broke down, and covering her face with her
pocket-handkerchief, continued: "To all he loved, and you were one of
those."--Louisa now went and shook hands with him, but without
speaking. When he entered the room the blood had rushed to her face,
but she had had time to regain self-command. Bräsig then welcomed the
new-comer, and began to talk of this or that to change the current of
his friends' thoughts, which had gone back to the time when they first
knew of their bereavement; but Frank did not hear a word that he said,
and stood as motionless as if he had been struck by lightning, the news
he had just heard had shattered his joyful anticipations so completely.
He had been at the agricultural school at Eldena for the last two
years, where he had worked hard, and had learnt all that was needed to
make him a good farmer; the practical part of his business he had been
taught by Hawermann, and so now that he was of age he was fitted to
take possession of his estate, and even to take a wife if he felt
inclined. The prudent advice of Mr. Behrens had prevented him hurrying
on to such a consummation too quickly. His disposition was neither cold
nor calculating, and his heart beat as warmly in his breast as that of
any other young man who was very much in love, but he had been obliged
to think for himself while so young that he had grown cautious, and
had accustomed himself to think twice before doing anything of
importance--some people said that he was too cautious--but it is a
fault on the right side. In this instance he was right to consider well
the step he proposed taking, for it was the most important of his life.
He had buried the sweet dream of happiness deep in his heart in the
same way as the kernel of the acorn is hidden by its hard shell; he had
not pleased himself with building up images of ideal bliss, but had
waited patiently till the proper time came for the seed to sprout out
of which was to grow the stately tree under whose shade he and his
Louisa might sit in peace. Whenever he had longed to go and see her, he
struggled against the temptation, for he did not wish to speak to her
then, he wanted to leave her free, and to give her plenty of time to
make up her mind unharassed by opposition. And when his heart bled at
the thought that he must not see her, he used to strengthen himself by
saying: "Be still. This is no game of chance. I must learn to be worthy
of her. And then if I win her, success will be all the sweeter."
He was now of age and was able to take his place in the world as a man.
The time was come where pride and honour no longer stood in the way and
he might tell his love to her whom he deemed the noblest, sweetest girl
on the face of the earth. The seed had begun to sprout, the tender
green shoot was showing above the soil, and the time was come to tend
it that it might grow into a tree; not only was it time to do so, it
was his duty. So at last yielding to the dictates of his warm heart,
and putting aside all further deliberation, he got into a carriage and
set out for Gürlitz parsonage.
Now that he had arrived there, the song of joy his heart had been
singing on the journey was hushed, and he stood between the two
black-robed women feeling more sorrowful than he had ever done before.
The object of his journey must remain unknown, for his own feelings,
respect for the grief he saw in his friends, and his own sorrow for the
true and good man who had passed away from them, all combined to keep
him silent, at the cost of much pain to himself.--Love is selfish and
cares nothing for the feelings of others is a common saying, and often
a true one. It has a world of its own, and goes it own way as though
the fate of others were nothing to it; but when it comes from God, its
course is determined by the eternal laws of right and goodness, and its
influence on sad hearts is sweet and calm as the light of the evening
star.
Such was the character of Frank's love, it could neither hurt nor annoy
the people with whom he had to do, on the contrary it comforted and did
good to all. He said nothing of the errand that had brought him to
Gürlitz, and when he took leave of his friends he felt like the
traveller, who, towards the end of a long and toilsome journey, sees a
church-spire rising in the distance and walks on cheerily, thinking
that his destination will soon be reached, but who is undeceived by the
sight of the first houses of the village, and finds that he has yet
further to go.
It was a beautiful winter-day when Frank set out to walk from the
parsonage to Pümpelhagen, letting the carriage follow slowly. Bräsig
went with him. The young man was busily engaged with his own thoughts,
while Bräsig was not at all inclined to be silent so that they were by
no means suitable companions. Bräsig might certainly have held his
tongue and have kept all the stories that came into his head to
himself, but it was one of his peculiarities never to see when he was
not wanted. He could not help seeing at last that he received no answer
to his remarks, and then he stood still, curiously enough, nearly on
the same spot where Alick had given him to understand that he did not
want his company any further, and asked: "Perhaps my presence is
disagreeable to you. It was just about this very place that your
cousin Mr. von Rambow told me that he did not wish me to walk with him,
if that is the case with you, I can easily leave you alone."--"Dear
Mr. Bräsig," said Frank; taking the old man's hand, "don't be
angry with me, but I can't help thinking about the death of the good
old clergyman, and the sad change that has taken place in the
parsonage."--"If that is it," answered Bräsig pressing his hand, "I
quite understand, and only think the better of you for it. I have
always told Mrs. Behrens and little Louisa that you are one of the
cultivated farmers such as one meets with in books, for you have a deal
of humanity in you and yet you are quite able to keep order amongst
those confounded farm-lads; I tell Rudolph that he can't do better than
follow your ensample."--He then went on to tell Frank about Rudolph and
Mina, Godfrey and Lina, and from them he passed to other people living
in the parish; Frank forced himself to listen attentively, so that by
the time they reached Pümpelhagen he knew all that had been going on
during his absence, even to the doings of Pomuchelskopp and his
Henny.--"Well," said Bräsig in conclusion as they entered the
court-yard at Pümpelhagen, "you're going to see your cousin, I suppose,
and I'm going to Hawermann, but there is one request that I want to
make you; let what I have told you about Pomuchelskopp and his
projections remain a secret between us, and you may trust me to have my
eye upon him and to put a spoke in his wheel whenever I can."
But Frank did not go to the manor-house, he hastened to the bailiff's
quicker than Bräsig could follow, rushed into the parlour where he had
spent so many quiet hours alone with Hawermann, and fell upon his neck.
The old man's eyes were moist, and the cheeks of the youth were
flushed, as if age had given his best gift, the dew of his blessing,
and the young heart on receiving it were revived and strengthened.--It
should always be so.--Frank then went up to Fred Triddelfitz, and
holding out his hand, said: "How d'ye do, Fred."--But Fred was proud,
with a true middle-class pride; and he had also a desire for revenge
which was born on the evening he had been caught in the field-ditch
near the parsonage, so he said quietly: "How d'ye do, Mr. von
Rambow."--"What's the matter, Fred?" asked Frank turning him round, and
letting him stand as if Fred were some inexplicable note of
interrogation to which he must find an answer, then shaking hands with
the two old gentlemen, he went to his cousin's house.--"Charles," said
Bräsig, seating himself by the table on which dinner was laid, "that
young Mr. von Rambow is really a most capital fellow. Ah, what a
splendid roast of pork! It's an age since I saw roast pork."
Alick welcomed his cousin heartily, for he was really pleased to see
him. He and Frank were the last male descendants of their race. Frida,
who had only met Frank once before, on the occasion of her marriage,
was glad to renew her acquaintance with him, and did all in her power
to make his visit a pleasant one. When Hawermann was crossing the yard
after dinner, on his return from seeing Bräsig part of the way home,
she sent out, and invited him to come to coffee, because she knew that
Frank would like it. Then it came out that Frank had gone to the
bailiff's before appearing at the manor-house, which made Alick rather
angry; he frowned with displeasure and Frida saw that his manner
changed and became haughty. That would not have mattered much, however,
if he had not been so foolish and unjust as to revenge Frank's mistake,
if mistake it were, on Hawermann by the coldness of his demeanour.
The company were therefore not on such easy terms as they might have
been, and every friendly word which Hawermann and Frank exchanged added
to Alick's wrath; he grew stiffer and colder every moment, so that in
spite of the sunshine of Mrs. von Rambow's kindness, the conversation
was in danger of dying away, when suddenly Hawermann jumped up, looked
out at the window and then hastened from the room.--Alick's face
flushed with anger: "What very extraordinary conduct! Most improper!"
he said. "My bailiff seems to think that he may dispense with the
commonest rules of politeness."--"Something of great importance must
have happened," answered Frida going to the window. "What can he be
saying to that labourer?"--"It's Regel," said Frank who had also gone
to the window.--"Regel? Regel?" asked Alick starting up. "That's the
messenger I sent to Rostock yesterday with three hundred pounds in
gold, he surely can't have got back already."--"What can it be," cried
Frank, "I never saw the old man so excited. Look, he has seized hold of
the labourer," and with that he rushed out of the house, followed by
Alick.
When they reached the yard, they saw that the old bailiff had caught
the strong young labourer by the collar, and was shaking him so
violently that his hat fell off and rolled into the snow: "That's a
lie," he exclaimed, "a mean, wicked lie! Mr. von Rambow," he said,
"this fellow says that he has lost the money!"--"No, it was taken away
from me," cried the labourer who was deadly pale.--Alick also changed
colour. He had long owed the three hundred pounds to some people in
Rostock, and had put off paying the debt till he could put it off no
longer; Pomuchelskopp had lent him the money to pay it--and now it was
gone.--"It's a lie!" cried Hawermann. "I know the fellow. He isn't one
to allow the money to be taken from him by force. He could and would
keep any ten men at bay who only wanted to steal a little tobacco from
him," and he shook the man again.--"Wait!" said Frank, separating them.
"Let the man explain the whole affair quietly. What's all this about
the money?"--"They took it away from me," said Regel. "When I got to
Gallin wood on the other side of Rahnstädt this morning, two men
came up to me, and one of them asked me to give him a light for his
pipe. I refused, and so the other caught me by the waist and knocked me
down. They then took the black parcel out of my pocket and ran away
with it into Gallin wood, and I ran after them but couldn't catch
them."--"But," interrupted Alick, "how does it happen that you just
reached Gallin wood this morning, it's only a couple of miles on the
other side of Rahnstädt. Didn't I tell you plainly to get a passport
from the mayor of Rahnstädt, and to walk all night so as to be able to
pay over the money in Rostock at twelve o'clock to-day?"--(If the money
were not paid at that hour proceedings were to be instituted against
him.)--"Yes, Sir," said the labourer, "and I did get the passport.
Here it is," pulling it out of the lining of his hat, "but I really
couldn't walk a whole winter's night, so I remained with my friends
in Rahnstädt, and thought that I'd be sure to get to Rostock in
time."--"Christian Däsel," cried Hawermann, who had grown quite calm
again, his previous excitement having been caused by the conviction
that the labourer was telling him a lie.--"Mr. von Rambow," he asked,
as soon as Christian came, "will you not send for a magistrate?" and
when Alick had consented, he said: "Christian, harness two of the
carriage horses into the dog-cart, and go for the mayor of Rahnstädt;
I'll have a letter for you to take by the time you're ready to start.
Now, Regel, come with me, and I'll put you in a quiet place where
you'll have time to come to your senses," he then took the labourer
away to his house and locked him up in one of the rooms.
When Alick went back to the house with his cousin, he had a good
opportunity for consulting him about his affairs, but he did not do it
although he knew that Frank was both able and willing to help him. It
is a true saying that the real spendthrift turns for help much more
readily to a hard-hearted usurer than to his friends and relations.--He
is too proud to confess his debts and sins, but not too proud to humble
himself by begging and borrowing from disreputable Jews. Such conduct
however cannot, in the true sense of the word, be said to arise from
pride, but from a miserable insensate cowardice, a fear of the kind and
sensible advice of friends and relations.
Alick was silent, and Walked restlessly up and down the room while his
wife and cousin talked over what had occurred. He felt himself to be in
a very disagreeable position, for unless the money was paid, his
creditor, perhaps all his creditors, would go to law with him. He could
bear it no longer, and though it was rapidly growing dark, ordered his
horse, and went out for what he called a ride--in reality it was to see
Mr. Pomuchelskopp.
Pomuchelskopp listened sympathetically to Mr. von Rambow's story, and
loudly bewailed the wickedness of mankind, adding that in his opinion
when Mr. von Rambow went to the expense of having a bailiff, that
bailiff ought to be able to choose a trustworthy man to send on an
errand of such importance. He did not want to say more at present, but
still he must confess that he thought Hawermann always acted too much
on his own judgment; for instance with regard to the glebe lands; he
had persuaded the late squire to rent the fields for his own benefit,
and he, Pomuchelskopp would prove clearly that the lease of the glebe
had been injurious to the interests of Pümpelhagen. He then went on to
tell Alick a long winded tale, which he could not understand, because
he was a very poor arithmetician, and besides that, could think of
nothing but his lost money at the moment. He therefore said "yes" to
everything his companion told him, and at last forced himself to ask
Pomuchelskopp to lend him another three hundred pounds. Pomuchelskopp
at first looked doubtful, scratched his ear, and then said, "yes" in
his turn, but only on condition that Alick should not rent the glebe
from the new clergyman.--Mr. von Rambow might have turned restive at
this condition being annexed to the bargain, but Pomuchelskopp showed
once more by figures that Pümpelhagen and Gürlitz would both gain by
the arrangement. Alick only half heard what was said to him, and at
length agreed to give a written consent to the plan proposed; his debts
were pressing, and he must rid himself of the worst claims at any cost.
He was just the kind of man who would cut the throat of his only milch
cow in hopes of making money by the sale of its skin.
Everything was settled now. Alick signed the paper given him.
Pomuchelskopp packed up the parcel of three hundred pounds and sent his
own groom with it to the Rahnstädt post office. This was much the
wisest thing to do, for thus no one at Pümpelhagen got to know anything
of the affair. Alick told himself two things so often during his ride
home that he ended by believing them: the first was, that the loss of
the money was entirely Hawermann's fault; and the second was, that he
was glad to have got rid of the glebe lands on such terms.